Onomatopoeia
by Ivychankasumi
Summary: Martin was 11 years old when he was send away from Gotham. His parents tried to protect him from his calamities, but Gotham was in his veins. And reading about the penguin and then riddler from far away, inspired him. 20 years later, there is a night hunter who destroy the fake heroes, the vigilantes. But in his pocket, he protects a call from home. Onomatopoeia!Martin Theory.


So… Yeah. I'm kinda nervous ¡cause I have only read some people in the Arrow Fandom (yeah, not in gotham) talking vaguely about this theory… But hey! I rlly like it! So I take the time to investigate a little about it

So, if the drabble is not enough to put you in context: There is a dc Villain called Onomatopoeia. He only speaks in them, imitating the sounds around him. Apparently, he hates vigilantes and tries to hunt and collect every mask he can.

The funny part about him is that he is really smart and sneaky, so nobody has ever discover his true identity. He even have a normal life and a happy family.

This theory is not that close to canon, because Onomatopoeia talked in some issues -whit out his villain disguise- , but hey, this is Gotham! And all the other things screams Martin so… A Gotham Versión of this villain would be awesome.

Also: English is not my native language, so, apologies in advance for any grammar mistake.

Disclaimer: Gotham is owned by Fox, Warner Brothers TV and Detective Comics.

* * *

He sneaked in through a window. It was just around nine o'clock and the sky was still not too dark, so he had to be careful that none of the neighbors were able to see him. There was nobody at home. The lights told him so. His watch also did. He turned on the light in the living room and verified that his gloves had not left a single blood mark.  
No. It had been a clean murder, not a drop spilled on his dark suit.

He walked with only one goal on mind: The study room, the one with so many booksellers and a few lamps. He took the liberty to lock the door once he could access. Just behind the desk, the book that caught his eye was a grayish encyclopedia, the letter "T". Gently, he took the book and placed it on the table. The furniture made a slight noise, so faint he could barely hear it, revealing a series of masks of different sizes and colors right away.

The blue mask with fine white details around the eyes that he held in his hands was perfect for his bizarre collection. He would place it next to ... that gray one. They were the easiest to get. He knew this was going to be an easy job, but he didn't think the woman would be so naive. She didn't hear a single footstep. Hidden on that roof, she fell immediately into Onomatopeya's trap.

\- Sshh ... - He repeated with some mockery. It was all she could hear before he covered her mouth and cut her throat cleanly. Blood fell on some tall balconies. Her body would surely decorate the newspapers the next day while his secret identity would be stored in one of his glass domes, his new decoration.

Finally, he took off the white bull's-eye mask and let out a snort, feeling proud of his night hunt. He sat across the desk, ruffling her brown hair, adjusting the curls that his disguise concealed perfectly. Two, four, six ... twelve hunts already. Some new vigilantes, some others who were more renowned, at least in their areas of action. Only one defeat, but many victories ... He liked what he had obtained.

He cracked his fingers, remembering a certain detail: The excuse he had made up to go out for a snack. After a small change of clothes, he hid in another compartment of the fake bookshop all the black clothes he was wearing. The mask, boots, the raincoat, even the weapons. Dressing as you daily do was better to relax at home. The neat white shirt, the impeccable gray suit, the striped black tie, always matching.

Before closing the wooden door, he pulled out a white bag that protected its content from the blood from his raincoat. It was a letter. As always, an elegant black envelope with purple edges. As the years passed, his father had become even more elegant and subtle.

Once at his desk, he carefully cut the envelope and admired the sharp calligraphy. He hadn't heard from him for a while, he missed him too...

 _Dear Martin_

 _First of all, I'm sorry to communicate with you after four months. It's been a long time, but Gordon and Batman have had me under surveillance after an incident at the Central Bank of Gotham. They threatened to send me to Arkham if they found out I was in collusion! But hey, they could not connect any document with me, as usual. One more useless partner rotting in Arkham does not affect me so much._

Martin grimaced in disgust ... Gordon. As always, sticking his nose in things he shouldn't. Threatening the fragile and well established criminal world that has been imposed in the city...

 _Other than that, business has gone very well. One or two ups and downs, nothing to worry about. The profits accumulate in my pockets wholesale._

 _Now that I have some free time, I caught up with your exploits. It is a pleasure to know that you have only been related to a few. Discretion is something that I'm glad you learned from me. Although ... What the hell is happening to the Star City press? Onomatopoeia!? What kind of ridiculous name is that!? I've been discussing an entire morning with Edward! He insists that you have taken it with the same subtlety and elegance as him, that it was your decision! Can't you do something to change it? I know you only imitate sounds around you, but I don't know ... He can't be right!_

 _At least you dress with the property and elegance of a murderer, not with a green circus suit. It's a relief._

Martin had to laugh, in the usual silence. So they were still fighting like children ... Their parents could have come a long way in their relationship, but finding trivial topics to discuss was still their favorite sport. He didn't think of a name when he first went out into the streets. After fighting against Green Arrow it was that he earned that nickname officially. It wasn't bad. He liked it. It set a precedent and made vigilantes fear listening to one of their onomatopoeias. Similar to how they did with his father Edward's riddles, in Gotham.

And of course, going black dressed but with loose fabric was an obligation. All the leather that the heroes wore was ... well. Aberrant.

… All right. Maybe he had inherited things from both of them. They were role models, of course...

 _And speaking of your good disguise skills, Ed also told me about the device you developed together. I didn't quite understand that part, how you did all those sounds. A discreet device with the distorted voice of others was something that I couldn't imagine, only you two. It gives a special touch to hide your identity. On another occasion, I would like to observe it personally._

After a couple of hunts, he had noticed the same as his father. He could not imitate many sounds only with his lips. With a couple of letter exchanges with the Riddler they finished adapting the details. He left his personal mark and made him an unlikely target to the police, even more than he already was. Mute from birth, imitating complex sounds, unlikely.

 _In any case ... Before finishing this letter, I want to ask you something._

 _Do you plan to come home soon?_

He let out a sigh with that last line. It would soon be four years since he hadn't meet him in person ... To avoid being singled out, to avoid implications, he tried to live normally in Star City. And of course, a normal man cannot be seen with the Penguin, or with the Riddler, renowned criminals, and not just in Gotham ...

Although, like every time, it seemed a bit cheeky for his father. They were the two who sent him away, to live in this strange, different city, without knowing anyone. Only sending money to those who guarded him, only sending a letter every certain time ... Now that he was older he understood that it was for his safety, but, on the other hand ... Many children who were raised in Gotham became different kinds of people. He would have liked to know what he would have become if he had been able to live with his parents.

 _I know you have a life there; I know it's risky..._

 _I know that I have no right to know the family that you formed._

 _I know that also asking for your visit, with your lifestyle, is asking too much..._

 _But sometimes I miss being able to see you sitting in the club._

... He missed him too. The madness of that city was what ran through his veins. His teachings were what he breathed.

And that club was always his favorite place to watch Oswald Cobblepot be the king of the underworld.

 _I hope soon to read a little more of your exploits, by the headlines, or by your own hands._

 _With love,_

 _Oswald Cobblepot_

 _PS: I am not a star, nor a cloud, but I am in the middle of the sky, what am I?_

The calligraphy of that postscript was different. Of course Nygma was the one who had added it before sending it. He must not have resisted temptation. He still gave him easy riddles, despite the years.

With the pen in his shirt pocket, he began to write his answer. It used to take a little longer, to avoid a pattern that was easy for the curious to follow. But this occasion was special. He wanted this letter to arrive soon, and the news to be spread between the two criminals. He signed largely, in the lower corner, with an elegant "M.C." The initials of his real name...

He heard the car parking near the house, the voice of his excited daughter and the sound of the keys in the front door were what made him stand up. He put the papers in the drawer and put the encyclopedia in place. All the domes were hidden again. Receiving them was easy, as soon as he arrived in the living room, his son ran to him, showing him a kind of diploma.

\- I was the first place in the race! You must have seen me! It was phenomenal!

\- It's a pity that you could not attend. - Leaving her bag on the couch, she came over to kiss his cheek. - I know you're busy with work, but I made a couple of promises ... -

His daughter ran down from the second floor, with an excited face too. He had gone up to leave the things of both children and take their coats. - To celebrate, we're going out to eat hamburgers! - Martin was not a big fan, but his kids loved any red meat on the grill. He observed his wife, in his painted expression a childlike and teasing claim.

\- Well, let them convince you ... - she pleaded for a more neutral position that ended with the minors sticking to him. The girl with puppy eyes. The boy with the blue ribbon and paper. He had to give up. His weakness was the same as his father: The people he loved.

He moved his hands, with a calm smile. - "Okay, let's go." - Both shouted in excitement and ran back to the car. Martin shook his face, amused by them, as he took his coat and left the house, hugging his wife by the waist.

 _Dear father_

 _I would like to make this letter a long answer to all the doubts and claims that you have sent me this last time - with love, of course - but after meditating a while, I consider it unnecessary._

 _This city has helped me practice a lot, but I think I'm finally ready to achieve my biggest goal._

 _I will hunt the head and mask of your biggest headache._

 _Soon I will return home._

 _With love,_

 _M. C._

 _PS; The letter "k"!_

* * *

I hope you like it!

For this theory I used his arc in Green Arrow Vol.2 (2002) and Batman: Cacophony. The first one is a rlly old comics (16 years man, I was 5 back then) so I couldn't find a way to read it… But well, Onomatopoeia is currently on Gotham, trying to catch Batman! A girl can have dreams~

I spent so much time with this… What am I doing with my life, man.

Love you and read you~

Ivy~


End file.
